Song Of Evenstar
by Huntress of the stars
Summary: Time passes with the wind, and yet she cannot die. The shores have gone and passed have they, yet she shall not go on... A tale of Aragorn and Arwen's despair, beginning at the end and going past the destruction of The Lord of the Rings.
1. The Road Goes Ever On

Disclaimer: don't own Lord of the Rings. You know I don't, I know I don't. Happy? I'm not...  
  
Hey, just decided to write this, because I adore Lord of the Rings so much... just to tell you, this is based on the movies. And don't tell me I'm wrong on something. I have read the books... thrice! But because the movies have all the fun Aragorn and Arwen fluff, I'm following them awhile. Cheers!

* * *

**_Song of Evenstar_**  
  
_Chapter 1: The Road Goes Ever On_  
  
_Time passes with the wind, and yet she cannot die. The shores have gone and passed have they, yet she shall not go on..._  
  
It was a long night. The longest she'd ever seen. And Arwen had seen many.  
  
It was the wait, the fear that grew heavy in her heart. It was the knowledge she did not own, the one question that had bothered her since she'd met him.  
  
Will he survive?  
  
This was the greatest war Middle-Earth had ever seen, perhaps the greatest it would ever see, Arwen hoped.  
  
Aragorn was a born warrior, an heir to the throne of Gondor. Would he accept that fate? And what was she to do here but wait for the war to end, wait for Aragorn to return? Or for the news of his death...  
  
Arwen glanced out her window, gazing at the stars. It was a clear sky tonight; the Evenstar shone brightly in the center of the cluster of stars.  
  
She prayed silently to the Evenstar for Aragorn's safe return.  
  
**Aragorn – Pellenor Fields**  
  
Dead. Dirty, stinking, rotting flesh. The pungent aroma of death, disease, blood. And fear.  
  
Orc bodies lay scattered about, like mice after a fierce storm. No one cared to bury their bodies; no one cared to cremate their remains.  
  
But the men of Gondor were to be respected. The elves that had come to help were to be prayed for.  
  
Digging through an immense, stinking hill of dead orcs, Aragorn spotted an elf. He lay sprawled beneath the carcasses, a calm expression on his dead face.  
  
And as Aragorn examined the carcass closely, he caught a smile tracing the dead elf's lips. He almost dropped the body. They wanted to die. They _wanted_ to be mortal. They thought of their own immortality as a curse.  
  
He closed his eyes and swallowed. Immortality... the only thing that kept him away from his Arwen. Yet she had given it away, had accepted mortality... just to be with him.  
  
Aragorn opened his eyes and gazed at the stars.  
  
The Evenstar around his neck glowed from the light of the Evenstar above.  
  
"Thank you, Arwen..."  
  
**Elrond**  
  
His kindred were leaving across the sea. His wife awaited him there. Yet his daughter chose to remain with that mortal of hers... Did she not realize he would die and she would live? Yes, she did. She'd given Aragorn her immortality.  
  
She'd given away her Evenstar.  
  
Oh, how Elrond had tried to convince her to leave, to sail across the sea. He'd begged her; he'd tried to force her. But Arwen remained firm. She wouldn't bend her mind in the direction Elrond wished.  
  
Her love for Aragorn was simply too great.  
  
He'd long ago surrendered to her, letting Arwen choose her own fate. And she had.  
  
She'd almost died, almost faded from life. Elrond had ridden to Aragorn, given the warrior his sword. But Arwen wouldn't eat. She wouldn't sleep. She remained in her room all day, stroking Aragorn's ring, and gazing at the Evenstar on clear nights.  
  
He'd forced some food into her yesterday, but she scarcely ate any.  
  
She was fading.  
  
**Arwen**  
  
Her hands were cold.  
  
She felt the cold snowflakes land on her extended hand, and she marvelled at their coolness, at how they did not melt upon her frozen hand.  
  
Footsteps behind her brought Arwen whirling around to face the intruder upon her silent serenity.  
  
Her brothers.  
  
Frowning, they came to their beloved sister, cuddled her between them as they had when Arwen had been but a child. Elrohir and Elladan loved their sister dearly, but now... now something was wrong. It was her coldness, her sudden awareness of the cold. Her hands were frozen, her expression of ice. Arwen scarcely moved from her place these days... she just stood, gazing to the east, hoping, wishing...  
  
They knew she spent every waking moment thinking of Aragorn, of Estel... of their friend. They had come to love Estel as a brother, but this... this was too much. He was killing their dear sister slowly, taking away her meaning of life bit by painful bit.  
  
"Sister..." spoke Elrohir, stroking Arwen's hand. "You cannot spend your life here... you cannot put your chances aside, cannot push away all chance of glory and valor..."  
  
"Come with us, sister..." muttered Elladan softly, taking Arwen's other hand. "Leave Estel... There is nothing for you here..."  
  
Arwen looked up, and gazed at her brothers. It was said she wept then, and gazed in longing at her home. But her heart wept harder, torn to shreds of her choices, of her chances, of her fate...  
  
At length she spoke, dark eyes cast down, tears frozen on her pale cheeks, ebony locks limp from her exhaustion.  
  
"Father has tried once to change my way of love," said she to Elladan and Elrohir, "But he failed that quest. Now you, brothers, have placed yourself between my love and me. I shall repeat myself, brothers, as I spoke to our dearest father in his hope. I have made my choice." Her voice was firm, set, and strong despite her weakness. Arwen's brothers knew there was no opposing her now. She was lost to them, lost forever.  
  
**Aragorn**  
  
The halls of Gondor... stone pillars, statues of kings long past. The simple beauty, elegance of this divine yet subtle house became a home to his heart. He loved this land, loved its people.  
  
And it was his. He had but to claim it, but to reach out and grasp it... and he would be king.  
  
King of this land.  
  
King of men.  
  
He didn't want to rule over a country, and yet he wished for the glory. No. No glory. Glory drove mortal men mad. Glory was the reason for this war, the reason for this bloodshed...  
  
He didn't want to cause more pain.  
  
And yet... would there not be more pain if he did not accept his fate and take the throne? Would Gondor then not fall, without a just ruler? Faramir would not take as the steward. Not when the heir was alive.  
  
He sighed, and turned his thoughts away from the throne as he awaited the others to arrive.  
  
What of Arwen?  
  
She was fading, dying... Elrond would not have lied to him, would not have rode all this way to give him the restored shards of Narsil in the new blade, Anduril... He would not have lied.  
  
So Arwen was dying...  
  
This was his fault. He shouldn't have left her. No... he would have either way. He shouldn't have _loved_ her. Shouldn't have stolen her heart, shouldn't have met her...  
  
What was he thinking?  
  
He wouldn't have lived then, not truly. Aragorn shook his head then, and gazed for long at the windows. They had been thrown open, for the wind blew softly from the west, bringing with it whispers of the sea. Of the gulls that called and the horns that sounded, and of the last ships leaving these dying shores...  
  
She should have left.  
  
She should have gone away, and lived in bliss with her people for her eternity. He would have been a pain in her heart for a while, but slowly, as the ages passed and Aragorn passed through the earth in his grave, she would forget him...  
  
And live in peace with no worries and no despair.  
  
The heir of Isildur sighed then, and his woe was felt, a tremor in the subtle changes of the tide, long leagues away, through the walls of Gondor, cross the plains and forests to a certain house within the wood...  
  
**Arwen**  
  
Her brothers had left, in despair, still searching in their minds a way to cheer her, to bring a smile once more upon her lips...  
  
Did they not understand?  
  
She would not smile, could not, until at last she saw Estel again. Until at last she heard his words, felt his love... Until she felt him near her, saw him smiling to her...  
  
Until they were together, she could not smile again.  
  
A soft whisper gently touched her ear, and she marveled at the shiver it sent down her spine. It was a soft wind, a subtle caress from the east... and the whisper...  
  
It was a woeful sigh.  
  
Something inside her told Arwen this was no ordinary sigh. It was the sigh of a heart in woe, a warrior before death, a king unable to grasp his rule...  
  
It was the sigh of lonely Aragorn, far away, in woe and longing for her touch.

* * *

You likes? You hates?

Let me tell you a secret... but don't tell it to any one else. Magic_ does _exist. See that little purple button on the bottom left-hand side of the screen? The one that says 'submit review'? It's magical.

So press it, and see what it does...


	2. Remnants of Memory

Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings trilogy, blah, blah, blah.  
  
I am SO sorry. Not that any one's actually caring for my sorry-ness, because only 2 people actually reviewed. Thanks espergirl04 and Evenstar Elanor...  
  
But, even though you aren't reviewing, people... I'm still going to continue because I've just come up with an extremely fluffy idea AFTER the movies and I don't feel like starting a new story... So this one's going to go to after the movies, too. Ok? Ok!

* * *

**_Song of Evenstar_**  
  
_Chapter 2: Remnants of Memory_  
  
**Aragorn**  
  
The clashing of swords and spears and arrows and flesh and _anything_ pounded in his ears, a steady rhythm as his heart. The black gates stood open before them, the steady stream of foul-smelling orcs and trolls and all of Mordor's vileness spilling out upon the remnants of Gondor's strength. They were going to die. They were going to be crushed beneath each blow of Sauron's foulness, cut to shreds beneath the weight of Mordor's greed.  
  
But Frodo needed this chance.  
  
And this was all they could give him. He wished to give more, to give his life, his soul, everything for the fate of Middle-Earth. But he couldn't.  
  
Because all those promises, all those vows and oaths... they had already been given. Aragorn had already pledged his life to Arwen. And he intended to keep those vows.  
  
A low rumbling behind him drew Aragorn's gaze to a troll, a foul minion of Mordor. He turned, but too late. The troll knocked the breath out of him, kicked him down. He heard voices around him, voices he knew, voices screaming his name. But they were muffled. All was slowed, all was barely audible. Only one thing did he hear: the beating of his heart.  
  
Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, gathered his strength. And then he stopped.  
  
He could die. He could let Middle-Earth fall, could leave this misery unscathed. He could live upon white shores until the end of time, in peace and without despair. Without a care about the world of men. He could give up.  
  
Give up.  
  
_Give up.  
_  
Aragorn swallowed and opened his eyes, raising his sword.  
  
No.  
  
He could leave Middle-Earth to whatever fate. He could forget the lives of men, and, without a care, live in peace undying.  
  
But he couldn't leave Arwen.  
  
**Arwen**  
  
He was hurt. She felt it in the air. It echoed in every leaf of every tree in every corner of the forest. He was hurt.  
  
Arwen stood sharply, and turned to her door. She hadn't left her room for weeks... but now was her time to do something. She couldn't just stay there, a rock, and do nothing...  
  
Do nothing.  
  
What was there that she could do? She wasn't a warrior, couldn't battle. She was skilled with the blade, true enough, but Arwen wouldn't stand a chance against trolls and thousands of orcs...  
  
What could she do?  
  
Her magic... of what use would that be at such a distance? She was useless. Useless. _Useless.  
_  
Turning away from the door, Arwen threw herself on her soft bed again, tears threatening to spill. But then again, what else could she do but cry?  
  
She could only cry.  
  
**Aragorn**  
  
He was about to stab through the troll when a loud crash in the distance echoed through the battle's midst. Every one stopped. For one split second, everything was silent.  
  
Silence.  
  
Silence.  
  
The orcs moved first. They were worried, scared, frightened. Screaming, they abandoned their victims and ran, just ran, away from the black gate. Away from Mordor, away from death.  
  
The trolls and the remainder of Mordor's foulness began to pour heavily from the gates, fleeing their bane.  
  
And then he saw it. As Aragorn straightened and stared at the tower, he saw the eye breaking, saw the tower crashing, saw the ground plunging...  
  
And smiled.  
  
Frodo had won. They had won. The ring was gone. Sauron was destroyed. Gone. _Gone.  
_  
They were free now, free of battle, free of death and free of fear. They were free to go wherever they wished to, whenever, however. To do anything, everything their hearts desired. Aragorn was free now, free to be a ranger, or to be king, to fall in love, to live his life...  
  
To fall in love.  
  
_Arwen._  
  
**Arwen**  
  
It was gone. The ring was destroyed. She felt her power returning, felt the earth sighing in relief.  
  
And she ran to her door.  
  
Throwing it open, Arwen raced down the long corridor that was suddenly light and friendly again. And to her father's study she ran, throwing open the door and racing to her father's arms as she had as a child.  
  
Elrond smiled at his daughter in relief and in terrible grief and regret. When at last Undomiel pulled back to face her father, he spoke.  
  
"We leave at dawn." He said, and smiled further, almost grievously, at his daughter's hopeful expression.  
  
"Ada..." she began, but he interrupted.  
  
"I release you, Arwen. You are free to your heart's desires..."  
  
**Aragorn**  
  
He was crowned king of Gondor. Frodo was safe now, and the four hobbits healed as much as they would ever be. Aragorn's people accepted him, bowed to him as he walked towards the long procession of elves. He smiled, but his smiles were half-hearted. His thoughts were elsewhere.  
  
Legolas laid a hand on the king's shoulder, and Aragorn smiled warmly at the prince of Mirkwood. But something glinted in the prince's eyes, something mysterious and mischievous that made Aragorn wonder. Legolas inclined his head to the procession of elves behind him, and let go of Aragorn's shoulder slowly.  
  
But Aragorn's gaze was drawn the crowd of elves parting. He saw Elrond standing behind a flag. He saw the elves of Rivendell around them. And that meant...  
  
**Arwen**  
  
Her father whispered something to her, but she didn't hear. She didn't see. There was nothing. Only Aragorn. Only her love.  
  
She slowly lowered the flag, letting it go as Aragorn took it from her hand. She was scared. Frightened by Aragorn. Frightened? How could she be frightened by the one her heart desired above all? How could she fear him? The answer came to her quickly, a stab in her heart, a pang in her love.  
  
He was king now. King of men. And who was she, but an elven maiden? She was Undomiel, the last Evenstar of her people... but _he _was the king of men.  
  
Perhaps he thought her unworthy of him now. Perhaps he didn't love her anymore. Perhaps...  
  
She couldn't look to his eyes. She couldn't face him. He was her king. So Arwen inclined her head ever so slightly in a bow, respectfully lowering her station before the king.  
  
But Aragorn wouldn't let her bow before him. He placed his hand under her chin, and lifted her face, gazing at her. Arwen couldn't escape those eyes. Those loving gray eyes that had shone through darkness and light.  
  
With a suddenness Arwen did not expect nor prepare for, Aragorn caught her mouth in his, trapping her in a passionate kiss. All the lust and desire of their time apart and their despair went into that kiss; all the pain washed away as they clung to one another. Arwen knew then, just knew, that this was her end. Her happiness. And that nothing, nothing would tear them apart now.

* * *

Tum tum tum... Sorry for the shortness... there I go, apologizing again though no one cares...  
  
sigh Next chapter, I'm going on to what happened after LOTR. I've got plot bunnies dancing in my head, so expect a twisted thingamagiger.  
  
... review? ... 


	3. Old Threads

Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR. I am simply borrowing it. But I _do _own the poem in the beginning. There, I own something. Yaaaaay!!!

You've blessed me with more reviews! Thank you!!!

All right. This happens AFTER LOTR! That means that the last ship had left with Frodo & co, that Aragorn and Arwen are already married, and that the shire is all the same as it was before.

This is set about two months after LOTR.

* * *

**Song of Evenstar**

_Chapter 3: Old Threads_

_Chained wonders, subtle rising_

_Of the sunlight in the east._

_Freedom wanders, freedom saunters_

_Through darkness and the blight._

_Freedom come now, freedom fly now._

_Freedom soar... freedom be._

_Chained wonders singing softly,_

_Their tune unheard to life._

_Subtle changes in the mountains,_

_Smallest ripples in the sea._

_Unnoticed are the wonders often,_

_The wonders and the beauty of this life._

_Chained wonders, singing softly._

_Chained tunes, imprisoned love._

_Watch slowly, faithful wanderer._

_As the sun sets its rays for the night._

_Chained it goes, round the world tomorrow._

_Chained it sings, tunes of grief and sorrow._

_Chained is love, chained is hate._

_Freedom free, freedom... chained._

Arwen 

The cool wind brushed her cheeks, ebony locks fluttering about her pale face. Blue eyes gazed to the sea, searching for a way, searching for a hope. Old threads... her old threads were tangled. Lost. Forgotten.

Gondor had returned to peace, the villagers were beginning to rebuild their lives, light their fires once again. They were learning to laugh again, to enjoy life, to find the greatest delight in the simplest of pleasures...

But they had not suffered as she.

That was selfish. Many of these women had lost their husbands, their lovers, their sons or their brothers. And who was she to say they had suffered less so? Who was she, to place herself above each soul, to allow arrogance to take hold, to take control?

She was the queen of Gondor, and Estel her king.

Undomiel shook her head, feeling tears flow freely from her eyes, down her cheeks. It was too late to go across the sea now. Her father was gone. Galadriel was gone. Her brothers were gone.

Arwen was the last remaining of the Elven kind in Middle-Earth. The last of her kin, the last Evenstar.

She had her love, she had her happiness. So why wasn't she happy?

Grey eyes watched her from a dark corner, and at length their owner came to the balcony and wrapped his arms about her.

"Estel..." she breathed, relishing his touch.

"Come in, Arwen," was his reply, "We must speak."

His voice was cold and hard, almost painful, though his touch warm and loving. Arwen nodded and, casting one last glance to the east, turned and followed Aragorn inside.

Their room was richly furnished: Curtains of silver thread, golden sheets and the softest bed in all of Middle-Earth. Small statues surrounded the room, and paintings. Two closets stood on opposite sides; one for the king and one for the queen. Arwen knew that within hers were the most elegant gowns, the most expensive dresses, although the queen preferred simple gowns.

Aragorn bade her to sit beside him on the bed, and held her hands, his expression grave.

"Arwen..." he whispered grievously, "I love you..."

She turned to gaze into the depths of his gray eyes, finding sanctuary there as she breathlessly murmured her reply.

"And I love you... You know that, Estel..."

"Arwen. I am the king of Gondor. I have duties that call me elsewhere."

His eyes dimmed, and Arwen was suddenly shut from her haven. Aragorn's eyes were mirrors... perfect mirrors that reflected all around him... but did not let anything inside.

"Estel...?"

He gripped her hands tighter.

"Sauron is defeated, Mordor crumpled. The orcs have fled. But bands of the vile creatures still raid the villages near to the broken black gate. And Arwen... the Nazgul have faded. The power of the rings has been relinquished. But strange occurrences have been reported to have happened near Osgiliath, and along the shores of the Anduin that cannot have been caused by mere orcs or trolls or any of Mordor's vileness... save the rings. Faramir and myself shall lead an army to destroy the remainder of the orcs, and to find the causes of these peculiarities."

Arwen stared at him a moment, absorbing what he had just said.

"W-when do you leave?" she managed to whisper.

Aragorn stroked her cheek, and Arwen closed her eyes at his touch.

"In two dawns, mela."

She opened her eyes, her gaze set and firm, her expression suddenly solemn.

"I am going with you."

Aragorn shook his head sadly.

"Nay, love. It is too dangerous a task, scouring Mordor. 'Tis a vile land... 'Tis too dangerous."

"I can fight!"

"No." His voice was firm, almost angry. It frightened Arwen, and she stared at him, eyes watering in fear. He had never spoken to her like that. Had never raised his tone so... so...

Aragorn caressed her hands softly, lowering his tone to a soft whisper again.

"No... Faramir shall not allow Eowyn to follow, for the danger is too great. And I shall not let you come either." He looked into her eyes, the mirrors gone, his gaze soft and loving. "I can't lose you, Arwen. Not now, not ever."

Arwen nodded, and sighed, her breath shaking and her eyes watering.

Aragorn gently raised her chin with his hand and gazed into the depths of his wife's eyes.

"I love you, Arwen. I will not allow anything to happen to you."

And slowly, gently, he pressed his lips to hers, loving her with all his might, trying to forget what could not be forgotten, trying to rid himself of what he did not wish to be.

**Twilight – two dawns in time.**

Arwen 

It was time to bid farewell to the men. Arwen kissed Estel lovingly as he said his final good-byes, whispering in her ear his parting words.

"I love you..." he had murmured, and mounted his steed.

But Arwen did not intend to stay behind. She turned swiftly around, walking quickly through the winding halls to her room, where she knew Eowyn was already waiting.

Indeed, as she entered, the fair shield-maiden of Rohan stood by the balcony, gazing at the assembling army. As soon as Arwen closed the door, Eowyn turned and smiled.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

Arwen smiled and nodded. She and Eowyn had become great friends after Arwen and Aragorn's marriage. Arwen forgave the maiden for loving Estel, and in time they came to be as close as sisters. When Faramir and Eowyn argued, the shield-maiden came to cry on Arwen's shoulder. When Aragorn was too busy with reconstructing the city to spend time with Arwen, Eowyn provided her company and reassurance.

Now, their husbands were leaving for Mordor, on a quest surely none would survive. And they expected their wives to remain at home?

No...

Arwen went to her closet, and Eowyn took Estel's. Their clothing was already prepared.

Eowyn had dressed as a man and gone to war once... she'd do it again with ease. But Arwen hadn't. She didn't know what it was like to sit in armor, wearing breeches, and wave a sword around, shouting battle cries.

As Arwen pulled on her breeches, she felt a pang of envy towards the men. They were able to wear these comfortable trappings, while women were forced to don itchy, heavy dresses that one had to lift as one rose up stairs? How unfair...

Her shirt was comfortable, light, and loose. Her belt, leather, strapped around her breeches comfortably as well. Then came a leather vest, and additional breeches of leather.

When she stepped out of the closet, Arwen was dressed in mail and armor, a sword at her belt and arrows at her back. Eowyn smiled at her. Perfect. The shield-maiden was dressed the same: heavy armor, leather vest, mail... and a helmet. Arwen grasped hers and donned the metal thing. She didn't need to trim her hair; most men bore theirs long. But she _would _have to hide her elven ears.

Tucking the delicate ears behind her helmet, Arwen smiled weakly.

"I am ready."

Their horses were ready as well; two proud brown steeds, saddled and armored. Arwen mounted hers as Eowyn jumped on the other.

The two women looked at each other momentarily, and exchanged reassuring smiles. Then, urging their steeds to the gathering army, kept their heads down and their faces hidden as the ranks poured from the stone foundations of Minas Tirith.

* * *

You likes? You hates? Tell me!

I didn't like this chapter very much, but trust me, it had to be done. I was having a VERY bad writing day when I wrote Aragorn's explanation of what the heck they were going to do in Mordor... sorry. It's not very important... just the fluff that comes with it. THAT'S important. But you get what I'm attempting to say here, right? RIGHT?

Review...


	4. The World of Men

Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, or the characters.

Hello! Thanks for the wonderful reviews! I won't keep you from reading the next chapter... so here it is!

**__**

* * *

**_Song of Evenstar_**

_Chapter 4: The World of Men_

**Arwen **

They were drunk, singing gruesome songs of blood and death... but yet more songs of women and of seduction and many other things Arwen blushed just hearing.

Drunkards, all of them. Each man swaying and stumbling and saying many things they would regret saying.

Leaning to Eowyn, who stood beside her, the queen whispered, "Are all men like this?"

"I hope not..." replied the shield-maiden. "If Faramir acted this way..." she shuddered, and Arwen smiled slightly. If Aragorn was drunk and singing of naked women, she'd go berserk with anger. He'd never know what hit him.

It was two per tent. Eowyn and Arwen were in luck. They shared their tent without fear of being found out. No one knew of their hidden identities as of yet, and they had even invented names... Arwen was Elarn son of Aornes, and Eowyn was Kalnger son of Kaligener.

They undressed in silence, each thinking of their husband, each wondering just how long their lies would hold.

Eowyn was asleep in a matter of minutes, but Arwen couldn't fall into slumber. She was still deep in thought, some solemn and some very girlish and giddy.

She didn't know when she fell asleep, only when she awoke.

Eowyn and Arwen were dressed and ready outside before the sun's first rays stroked the sky. Aragorn and Faramir rode through the ranks, glancing over each man's steed and checking to see that each man had his belongings secured. They only rode past swiftly, taking no more than a quick glance at the man and his steed, but Arwen and Eowyn hid their faces still, hoping luck would find them.

Luck was hopelessly lost.

As Aragorn rode past Arwen, he stopped. Gazing at her strangely, the king approached her.

"Your name, good sir?" he asked softly.

"Elarn, son of Aornes, milord." She replied, toning her voice several octaves lower.

Aragorn gazed into her eyes awhile, then whispered so that only she could hear, "You shall come to my tent 'ere we stop for the night, _Elarn_."

And then he rode on.

When the army began to trot on its way to Mordor, Eowyn rode up to Arwen.

"What did he say?" she whispered softly.

Arwen didn't reply directly. Her expression was solemn, her eyes staring at Aragorn, who led the troops far, far ahead.

"He knows..."

**Arwen – in the evening**

The tents were set up; the men drunk. Arwen put on her helmet and armor, hoping to hide her identity as long as possible. She opened the tent flap and stepped outside, turning to the direction of Aragorn's tent.

"Wait!"

Eowyn was behind her, and trotted up to her friend swiftly.

"I'm coming with you."

"But - "

"If they find you, they'll find me sooner or later, Arwen. We might as well go through this together."

Arwen smiled and nodded, reassured if but a little.

The king's tent was bigger than the common soldiers'. He had it all to himself, as did Faramir. It was the size of a room, but everything within took but an hour to pack up again.

Arwen opened the flap nervously, and found Aragorn sitting on a chair, gazing right at her. Faramir was pacing nervously about.

"Come." He said as soon as Arwen peeked in, and she stepped within the tent slowly, Eowyn following her.

The moment the tent flap was closed, Aragorn stood and walked to Arwen.

"It is warm, master Elarn." He said, "Will you not remove your helm?"

Frantically thinking of a way out, Arwen replied.

"I thank milord for your kindness, but my helm must remain on my head."

Aragorn was amused. "How so?"

"Because, milord..." her tongue froze. Aragorn was laughing.

Laughing, not at her, but with her, laughing at himself, almost. His head was thrown back, and a deep, hearty chuckle escaped his lips. Oh, how she loved his laugh...

"You needn't fear your king, master Elarn." He said when he was done. Aragorn approached her and took off Arwen's helmet slowly, gently caressing her ears. His face showed no sign of surprise, no sign of anger. Only of deep wonder and love.

"Not when he is your servant..." he whispered. He was so good...

Aragorn brought his lips to hers, but Arwen placed her index finger upon them. Her eyes watered, and she stifled a sigh.

"I couldn't leave you, Aragorn." She said, smiling weakly. "I couldn't stay behind again, not knowing, but hoping... Are you angry, mela?"

The king smiled at her, and took away her hand. Gently, he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her softly. When he pulled back, Aragorn stroked her cheek.

"I was, Arwen. But I will let you come." His face was suddenly solemn. "As long as you are not hurt."

Arwen nodded, and kissed him again. "I won't, mela. I promise..."

Some one from behind them cleared his throat. They turned to a very embarrassed and red-faced Faramir.

"I'm... sorry... to interrupt, milord, milady..." he said, before turning his gaze to Eowyn. "But who is this?"

Arwen chuckled and looked to her friend, nodding. Eowyn took off her helm, and smiled at Faramir sweetly.

"Sorry, love..." she said.

Faramir stood in shock, gazing at his wife before rushing to enclose her in a warm embrace and a loving kiss.

Aragorn grasped Arwen's hand and looked into her eyes.

"Just... tell me next time you plan to do this..."

"I will, mela... I will."

Arwen's belongings were brought to Aragorn's tent, and Eowyn's to Faramir's. The soldiers were informed of the two women's doings, and Arwen blushed deeply at the reactions of some drunken men.

"Oi, 'at's not fair!" the shouted, "Take 'em pretty women to 'emselves, and not leave a'y for us!"

Aragorn ignored that comment and led his wife back to their tent, to prepare for the next day's travel and for the grave battle that lay undoubtedly ahead.

Both slept easier that night, having each other's warmth to cuddle, and their love to hold to.

* * *

Yeah, I know... bad. And they were found out quickly... too quickly. But I'm not planning for this to be long. I just wrote this for fun, so... yeah. Mordor's ahead... They still need to pass the Anduin though.

Review?


End file.
